a girl with her background would have been overwhelmed by all the trappings of the Favor mystique.”
“As far as I know, he only took her to a few Indians games.”
“And his Lexus is just a car, Mike. Did you know that his mother bought season tickets for him as soon as he was admitted to our fair college?”
“I don’t see that as a problem for anyone.”
“Did you know that Sonny took her to New York City?”
“No,” Branden answered, on guard.
“She wanted to photograph Ground Zero.”
“I knew that, but I didn’t know she had actually done it. Not with Sonny.”
“He’s a profligate moron, Mike, and he’s ruined Martha Lehman as an artist. Ten hours in the studio, Mike. That’s all I’ve gotten from her this semester,” Royce said. He took off his thick black glasses and polished the lenses with a handkerchief, pipe hanging from his mouth. Folding the handkerchief ceremoniously, the art professor got out of his chair and pointed the stem of his pipe at his colleague. “I don’t care if she is one of your projects, Mike. I want her back in the darkroom and the studio, or she’s not going to pass my tutorial.”
Branden nodded. Changed the subject. “Are you still pressing your motion at faculty meeting?”
“Of course,” Royce said. “It is decidedly not fair that the sciences get all that money for lab courses. Other departments have expenses, too.”
“I doubt the scientists are trying to get away with anything, Phillips. They’ve got legitimate expenses.”
“Then the science students have got to pay more tuition.”
“That’s hardly the spirit of the liberal arts.”
“Science is not a liberal art.”
“It is very much so!” Branden exclaimed.
“Then I will expect you to argue against me tomorrow afternoon.”
“Count on it, Phillips.”
“If Juliet were still alive, your vote wouldn’t count for anything on this issue.”
“How so?”
“You would have to ask Henry DiSalvo. But special budgets for the sciences were to be a thing of the past.”
“How sad.”
“That studio lighting system I told you about?”
“Yes.”
“Seem fair to you, Professor, that that equipment came out of my pocket?”
“Not at all, but hurting one branch of the college isn’t the way to address the problem.”
“When did you cross over to the other side, Mike?”
“Science is the ally of art, Royce. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Well, it is not my ally. Not in the slightest. It hasn’t been, at Millersburg College, for years.”
“And you think Juliet Favor had set out to correct that problem?”
“Talk to DiSalvo,” Royce said confidently.
“I will.”
“Good. And I suggest you stay sharp tomorrow at faculty meeting. I’m not the only professor who feels this way. Not the only one at all.”
16
Saturday, November 2 9:35 A.M.
AS THE SKIES cleared briefly, Caroline Branden gunned the engine in her Miata and slid sideways to a stop in the parking lot of Evelyn Carson’s building. She got out in deep snow, kicked angrily at the ice packs around her back tires, and then opened the trunk of the car. The bright sun seemed incongruous with the cold air and snow, since to Caroline, after nearly thirty years in northern Ohio, cold weather spoke mostly of cloudy skies.
She popped the zipper of her coat up to the top and pulled her hood over her head. From the trunk of her car, she retrieved the things she had gathered from Martha’s room, and closed the lid. Sliding her boots through the snow, she followed the path made earlier to the side door of the Victorian house, and inside, she stomped her feet to knock off snow and ice.
On the second floor, she pushed through the door into Evelyn Carson’s office, her arms wrapped around the well-stuffed travel bag, Martha’s bucket of toiletries, the camera bag, and a now-wrinkled photograph of a smiling Amish man. She dropped the load on an overstuffed chair and pulled the used pregnancy tester out of
“As far as I know, he only took her to a few Indians games.”
“And his Lexus is just a car, Mike. Did you know that his mother bought season tickets for him as soon as he was admitted to our fair college?”
“I don’t see that as a problem for anyone.”
“Did you know that Sonny took her to New York City?”
“No,” Branden answered, on guard.
“She wanted to photograph Ground Zero.”
“I knew that, but I didn’t know she had actually done it. Not with Sonny.”
“He’s a profligate moron, Mike, and he’s ruined Martha Lehman as an artist. Ten hours in the studio, Mike. That’s all I’ve gotten from her this semester,” Royce said. He took off his thick black glasses and polished the lenses with a handkerchief, pipe hanging from his mouth. Folding the handkerchief ceremoniously, the art professor got out of his chair and pointed the stem of his pipe at his colleague. “I don’t care if she is one of your projects, Mike. I want her back in the darkroom and the studio, or she’s not going to pass my tutorial.”
Branden nodded. Changed the subject. “Are you still pressing your motion at faculty meeting?”
“Of course,” Royce said. “It is decidedly not fair that the sciences get all that money for lab courses. Other departments have expenses, too.”
“I doubt the scientists are trying to get away with anything, Phillips. They’ve got legitimate expenses.”
“Then the science students have got to pay more tuition.”
“That’s hardly the spirit of the liberal arts.”
“Science is not a liberal art.”
“It is very much so!” Branden exclaimed.
“Then I will expect you to argue against me tomorrow afternoon.”
“Count on it, Phillips.”
“If Juliet were still alive, your vote wouldn’t count for anything on this issue.”
“How so?”
“You would have to ask Henry DiSalvo. But special budgets for the sciences were to be a thing of the past.”
“How sad.”
“That studio lighting system I told you about?”
“Yes.”
“Seem fair to you, Professor, that that equipment came out of my pocket?”
“Not at all, but hurting one branch of the college isn’t the way to address the problem.”
“When did you cross over to the other side, Mike?”
“Science is the ally of art, Royce. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Well, it is not my ally. Not in the slightest. It hasn’t been, at Millersburg College, for years.”
“And you think Juliet Favor had set out to correct that problem?”
“Talk to DiSalvo,” Royce said confidently.
“I will.”
“Good. And I suggest you stay sharp tomorrow at faculty meeting. I’m not the only professor who feels this way. Not the only one at all.”
16
Saturday, November 2 9:35 A.M.
AS THE SKIES cleared briefly, Caroline Branden gunned the engine in her Miata and slid sideways to a stop in the parking lot of Evelyn Carson’s building. She got out in deep snow, kicked angrily at the ice packs around her back tires, and then opened the trunk of the car. The bright sun seemed incongruous with the cold air and snow, since to Caroline, after nearly thirty years in northern Ohio, cold weather spoke mostly of cloudy skies.
She popped the zipper of her coat up to the top and pulled her hood over her head. From the trunk of her car, she retrieved the things she had gathered from Martha’s room, and closed the lid. Sliding her boots through the snow, she followed the path made earlier to the side door of the Victorian house, and inside, she stomped her feet to knock off snow and ice.
On the second floor, she pushed through the door into Evelyn Carson’s office, her arms wrapped around the well-stuffed travel bag, Martha’s bucket of toiletries, the camera bag, and a now-wrinkled photograph of a smiling Amish man. She dropped the load on an overstuffed chair and pulled the used pregnancy tester out of
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